Open Hearts, Breathing Lungs
by pratz
Summary: AU. Quinn Fabray, DO is on duty when she meets this girl who has a strong affinity for coffee and talk. When it comes to emergency medicine, it's always an emergency. ::Complete::
1. Chapter 1

**Open Hearts, Breathing Lungs**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's. Me, I don't even watch _Glee_ anymore.

For lrbcn on Tumblr, because she posted a doctor!Quinn set where Quinn became a doctor to prove herself to her father, himself an eminent doctor.

-.-.-.-

**Part 1 of 3**

The truth about emergency medicine is that every case is always emergency.

Quinn breathes out the smoke from her lungs, watching it evaporate and mingle with the cold air of Buffalo above her head. White meets white above the head of someone in white. What a match.

_What do you call a doctor who smokes?_ her inner voice rings in her ears.

She wants to snicker. _And what do you call a doctor who keeps losing patients?_

To save a life, according to the amended Declaration of Geneva, is the utmost duty a doctor has. _'I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of humanity,'_ the Declaration reads and is recited by thousands of doctors in the past, thousands of those who are giving their everything into their duty, and thousands more to come. In some places, doctors do. Thus they are called healers, wonder workers, and miracle bringers.

"Dr Fabray?"

Yeah, but not that.

Her eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, finds the half-crouching figure of Burt Hummel.

He raises both eyebrows at the sight of her smoking.

"Hi Burt," she manages to greet him, weakly though. Not wanting to upset her mentor, she butts down her guilty pleasure on the hard concrete of the ambulance's drive. At his concerned eyes, she quickly amends, "I don't do that often, you know. Just when I'm—"

"Stressed out," Burt finishes for her gently. "Quinn, you know how it is with emergency medicine. That Molina girl wouldn't survive even if the best doctor in ACEP had—"

And exactly that time her pager decides to go off. A simple message. Three-numbered text on the screen. That's all she needs to rise form her position.

"Hiram," she says as she brushes past Burt, and that explains everything.

Burt groans. "Really, Utica needs to stop sending us more cases. It's almost Thanksgiving, after all."

Quinn only manages to give him a weak smile before she dashes to where she knows she will find her other mentor.

Said mentor is walking fast-paced back and fro inside his office. He's still in scrubs, but he doesn't look like he's going to get his hands in a surgery soon.

"What 911?" Quinn asks from the gap between the door and the jamb.

"My dear Quinn!" Hiram Berry replies a tad too enthusiastic. "Exactly the person I need!"

"Another case?"

"Oh no, no, no. You're still on a break. That last case you worked on was tough, after all." Hiram rushes to pull her inside his office. "I, on the other hand, am going to deal with one." His eyes gleam behind his glasses, and Quinn frowns at that. "Do me a favor, will you?" He inhales. "So... a guest will be here. And she's very important to me. Very, very important. And she's going to be really mad because I can't back off from this surgery."

"Yes, you can."

"It's my thousandth surgery!" Hiram flails like a child during Christmas. "No, I can't. I need to catch up with your dad, you know."

Quinn winces internally at the reminder, but she manages to catch herself before anything antagonistic appears on her face. "Are you seriously paging me 911 just to ask me to play accompaniment?"

Hiram puts both hands on his hips, eyebrows rising so high they almost reach his hairline, his posture clearly saying, _Are you seriously telling me I should postpone my thousandth surgery?_

Time to rest her case. No matter how considerate Hiram is of her, he is still the Chief of Surgery. And he really has a good reason for not backing off from this particular surgery. Any reason to see someone rivals her father is a good reason. That's enough for her to make her nod.

"You are an angel!" Hiram leaps and gathers her for a brief hug. "Thank you so much, Quinn."

"Just go save a life, Hiram."

He smiles again at her. Really, Quinn can literally feel the excitement that radiates from him. He pushes a piece of paper onto Quinn's hand, saying, "Her name is Rachel, and this is her number—you know, in case she's late and call my office. I'm sure you two _will_ have a nice chat. I won't be long, I promise. It's just an angioplasty, after all."

She nods. An angioplasty surgery will only take two hours maximum. And this is Hiram Berry, MD, renowned cardiothoracic surgeon speaking. Besides, she can use the time accompanying this Rachel to rest a bit, can't she?

Hiram's pager goes off, and she shrugs when her mentor mouths a quiet, "Ooh. There it is."

She smiles. If there is one thing that she learns from her mentors, Burt and Hiram alike, it is that they are all so dedicated in their noble duty—something that she needs to develop herself.

Hiram thanks her again and heads to his case, leaving Quinn alone in his office to look around the vacant room. The wall next to the door is decorated with framed pictures, mostly of Hiram's partner, Leroy, and his fellow doctors. There's a picture with Burt taken in one of their winter family holidays. The Berrys and the Hummels are just close like that, considering the fact that Hiram and Burt have been friends since they were still in John Hopkins, and they are Quinn's favorite families in the world. Sometimes she wonders why Kurt, Burt's only son, doesn't follow his father's step when the nation's most amazing doctors surround him.

Then there is a picture of him with her father when they both were awarded the Lasker Award five years ago.

A scowl is halfway formed on her face when the door burst open without warning. She even almost jumps in surprise.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize someone is here."

Loud, and high-pitched, and melodic.

"Rachel?"

The girl still holding the doorknob tilts her head at the question. "Why yes, that's my name. I'm sorry, but I believe we haven't met before."

She strides to the door to open it wider. There she is: Hiram's guest. The Rachel he's been waiting but can't forgo the thousandth surgery for. "Uhm, Dr Berry is in the OR—operating room, that is. And he kinda asked me to keep you company. Uhm, it's just a small operation, anyway. Won't take long."

The girl looks at her from under her neatly cut bangs. "Dr Fabray," she reads the nametag on Quinn's coat. "Nice to meet you."

Quinn wants to slap herself for forgetting to greet this Rachel. "Uhm, nice to meet you, too."

Rachel laughs, soft and merry, but my God, that must be the most melodious voice Quinn has ever heard—that, or she is just that tired from constantly and literally being on her feet for the last two days.

"Well, you know my name already," Rachel says. "That old man has the nerves to bail out on me and makes me wait. And all it takes is just a text." She almost pushes her phone to Quinn's face. Really, a very Hiram move, that one. "See if I'll still be here when he's done with the surgery."

"We can have coffee," Quinn offers. But, really, she mostly speaks for herself. She needs the strongest coffee ever discovered by humankind to stay awake now. "And before you say no, I'm not talking about hospital coffee."

Rachel's eyes brighten immediately. "Lead the way."

They end up in front of a small coffee house across the hospital. The house serves much better coffee than the hospital cafeteria, and a lot of doctors Quinn knows frequent the house for their daily dose of caffeine.

"Hi Jake," she greets the shopkeeper. "Late shift, today?"

"Same as you, Quinn." He grins. "The usual?"

"Nope. I think I'll go with café au lait."

"Noted. And for your friend?"

"I'd like an Espresso Romano," Rachel says. "Decaf with brown sugar if you have, please. And the lemon should be only this this much." She makes a pinching motion with her thumb and forefinger.

Jake nods, pleased. "You know how to order your coffee, lady."

"I'm a New Yorker, buddy. There are two things we can't live without, and coffee is one of them."

Jake nods again. "Be back in a minute."

Rachel turns to face her. "So what's your usual order?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your cup of coffee." Rachel points at Jake behind the counter with her chin. "Wait, don't tell. Let me guess. Hmm. Cappuccino? Or is it Americano?"

She shrugs. "Try again."

Rachel fakes a dramatic gasp. "Is it latte?"

"You're running out of chances." From the corner of her eye, she sees Jake is coming their way with their orders. "It's espresso."

"Ah, damn. Never thought you'll be one of those people." Rachel grins. "Well, it's my treat then."

"But—"

"And I'll be very offended if you say no."

"O—kay."

Rachel makes a clickety sounds. "You give up too easily."

Strange, this girl, Quinn thinks, but even she has to give Rachel for being able to order coffee properly. "Who are 'those people?'

"Espresso drinkers. Most espresso drinkers I know are strong-willed." She looks at her left as they cross the street. "And wouldn't, you know, want to be at the receiving end of a conversation."

_If only you know what I've had today_, Quinn thinks.

"That's why it's my treat." Rachel walks backward after they cross the street safely, facing her. For someone who has just been a stranger no less than ten minutes, she sure is friendly, Quinn thinks. "I like it when people surprise me."

"Especially when it comes to coffee?"

"Especially when it comes to coff—oof."

Walking backward like that, it's only a matter of time that Rachel hits someone, of course. The nurse who she bumps onto glares at her, but Rachel quickly ratifies her mistake by apologizing. Her apology is, not surprising—considering the fact of how talkative she is, long and very, very thorough.

"She's a mocha drinker." Rachel says as the nurse goes away. "With raspberries, because she smells like that. Or perhaps hazelnut. You know, there's a saying that you can't like hazelnuts and not be a forgiving person."

_Really?_

But at that, Quinn really has to laugh.

Just because.

And of all things, Rachel seems to be taken by this.

"You're," she pauses, seeming unsure of herself, before continuing, "you're so pretty when you laugh," then she takes another pause—shorter, "Quinn."

Classic Quinn Fabray sobering up hits her like an on-duty paging.

_Did she just—_

And her pager decides to go off exactly at that time.

Rachel watches her as she groans and reads the message. Damn Buffalo and the infamous November rain.

"Sorry," she says to Rachel. "Seems you're going to wait for Hiram on your own." She sees Rachel flash a tight-lipped smile, but it's a smile nevertheless, as she turns to head to the direction of the ambulance ward for another case to be had that night. "I'll let you know if I can get back here soon."

_And really save somebody this time._

A strange realization hits her once she's in the OR facing an open wound of an unfortunate pedestrian who slipped on his way home from work: she leaves her half-drunk coffee with Rachel.

Rachel isn't there when she finishes the seven stitches, but the nurse on the station desk gives her a folded paper.

A message from Rachel reads: _'Hi Quinn. Apparently old man Hiram takes his time in the OR, so I decide to head back to my hotel. I hope your case ends with a life saved that will make you smile. I'll see you around soon. Rachel Corcoran. (P.S.: as an espresso drinker, have you tried Nienta?)'_

"Dr Fabray?" the station nurse asks, already handing her the receiver phone. "From Dr Hummel. Molina case."

She heaves a heavy sigh. Looks like her no-rest two days will soon menacingly turn to be three days.

There's one more truth about emergency medicine. And that other truth about emergency medicine is that, Quinn knows all too well, cases never stop.

Not even when she's just three-day away from leaving Mercy Hospital of Buffalo for good.

-.-.-.-

Note:

Emergency medicine is real. I dated a medicine student, and he picked up this track after his internship. ACEP (American College of Emergency Physicians) and Lasker Award are real, too. And I don't just pick a random specialization for Quinn.

Mercy Hospital of Buffalo is a real hospital (and it's a Catholic one—how befitting of Quinn). Also, there's a reason why Burt mentions Utica.

Note (last):

I can continue this. Or, in the South we say, I might could. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Open Hearts, Breathing Lungs**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's. Me, I don't even watch that series who should not be named anymore.

My review box is hungry. Give me my daily bread. Thank you.

-.-.-.-

**Part 2 of 3**

Note this: 5 AM is quietly eerie if spent in an on-call room.

Quinn rolls onto her stomach, grunting when her tired back protests against the movement. The bunk bed creaks noisily, and an immediate protest comes from the lower bunk.

"Can't you just be quiet, Q? I'm not like a certain someone who can function on only caffeine supply." Typical Santana Lopez, DO being Santana Lopez, DO.

What else can she say but a not-at-all regretful remark? "Sorry."

Climbing down the bunk, she notices that Santana has yanked the pillow and covered her head with it. They both have had rough days lately, and just like her, Santana has been on her feet in a five-hour surgery with her PM&R Head for the same case that Quinn and Burt have been working on.

Well, not totally like her. Santana is not staying in the hospital on Thanksgiving, that is.

Frowning at her own sullenness at the thought, Quinn hurriedly yanks her coat and don it. She can't sleep, but she doesn't want to think about Thanksgiving. Besides, what Thanksgiving they can get, after all, with this Molina case on their hand? The case, a fatal head-on collision with two casualties and three critically injured survivors, is no joke. Even though the accident happens in one of New York State Thruway's most infamous MVA-inducing area, the hospital the patients were brought to first has referred the survivors to Mercy, knowing that one of the state's best emergency unit is there. Ever since, it has kept almost all emergency doctors in Mercy on alert.

_E pluribus unum indeed_, Quinn mocks Santana-sarcastically.

Out of many hospitals, one busies works its ass out. Out of three patients, only one survives. The first patient dies on her watch from lungs collapse; he is only about twenty. The second, a fifteen-year old girl, survives the first surgery to remove the blood clot in her brain. She is, however, not as lucky when the surgery team later finds and works on her lower gastrointestinal bleeding. Even Burt is flabbergasted.

Quinn is convinced she'll never be able to forget the way the girl's stomach just _explodes_ as she cuts it open, blood splattering everywhere, dyeing her scrubs with sickening red materials, forever staining her vision with an accusation of yet another failure to save a life.

The last patient, a woman around her fifties, is now stable. Santana, along with the rest of the PM&R team, manages to stabilize her spine. And now they all just need to wait, because she is their only hope. If she can't manage to go through the first critical stage of recovery, the team will be reminded eternally of a literally _bloody_ Thanksgiving.

Quinn wonders how it feels—driving with one's whole family to get home Thanksgiving only to end up in a hospital and lose the whole family.

Speaking of family...

Sighing, she reaches into the pocket of her coat. Her phone has been inactive since yesterday, but she needs to call her mother—or at least sends a text message to wish her happy Thanksgiving.

She finds more than her phone in her pocket.

The piece of paper Hiram gives to her. With Rachel's phone number.

_You should—_, her inner voice starts.

_No._

She decides to send her mother a short _'Happy Thanksgiving, mom. I'll call you later. Kisses, Quinn.'_

Now coffee. God bless good ol' Jake for having a night shift in The Romano's, because she can't imagine having to go to another place that requires a longer walk in her state of mind.

_This_, too, she can't imagine.

Rachel's face lights up as she sees Quinn passes the front gate of the hospital. "The person I want to see just right!"

She blinks. "Why are you here at," she takes a glance at her watch, "five-thirty?" Because, honestly, not even the greatest morning person will find it entertaining to be in a hospital before dawn.

"I get here at the right time, don't I? Here."

Quinn suddenly has her hand occupied by a large tumbler of something that smells heavenly, coffee-heavenly.

"I talked with old man Hiram last night, and he said you're on duty until late. Just thought I can introduce you to Nienta."

Ah yes. The note.

"For your information, I brew it myself. I selectively choose and bring my own coffee set everywhere—that's one thing I'll always be proud of. However, it's my first time preparing a Nienta, so if you find it not to your liking, I assure you that future improvement is guaranteed."

Quinn takes a sip from her tumbler. The dark taste of decaf coffee. And the complementing milk. Non-fat, she thinks. Christ, this is good.

Beaming, Rachel smiles from ear to ear at the appreciative expression that takes place on Quinn's face. "You're welcome."

"I—seriously, this is so, so good," she says, and adds just because, "thank you."

"That's for making up for my old man making you work all night long right before Thanksgiving."

"I—I'll still be here today, though," she says, and immediately regrets it as Rachel frowns in distaste.

"Quinn Fabray, DO, don't tell me you're working _on_ Thanksgiving." She pauses, thinking, then, "What's DO, by the way?"

"Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine," she answers. "Similar to MD, but not MD."

"Okay, still. My point is, you know, no one works on Thanksgiving," Rachel gives an undignified half shriek at the end of her sentence.

"Uhm—my mom—she's in Boston. And I've told her that I can't go home this year." She hurriedly adds, "But my dad is in New Haven. I—we—we might do something after Thanksgiving."

Rachel narrows her eyes, and under her stare Quinn thinks she'd prefer to have gone back to the uncomfortable bunk bed.

Without a word, Rachel takes back the tumbler from Quinn's hand.

"Hey, I haven't—"

"I'm disappointed in you," Rachel says, sharp. "And I demand you compensate for it when you're no longer on duty today."

Then Rachel turns around, rather dramatically if Quinn may add, and crosses the street to go back to wherever she comes from.

Well, that's one good Nienta gone to waste.

And she's still mourning for her loss—and befuddlement of the whole event—when Santana catches up with her in the cafeteria at 7 AM.

Yawning, she takes a seat across Quinn. There are only a few morning birds there anyway, so Santana doesn't mind a little drop in her poise. "When's your time off today?"

Quinn thinks for a second. "Around nine," then adding, "PM, that is."

"Any plan after that?"

"Go home and sleep?"

Santana makes a tsk sound. "You're no fun."

"So people say."

Santana stands up and straightens. "Well, I'm off. Let's hope my Greyhound won't be delayed or anything."

"Tell dear girlfriend I say hi."

"Like hell I would," Santana scowls, and Quinn grins. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

Another classic Quinn Fabray sobering up moment hits. "10 PM."

The way Santana's lips thin out tells Quinn well enough that this is her best friend speaking, not just her bold and easily annoyed colleague. "I'll be there."

"Thanks, San."

Thankfully, nothing emergency happens in the hospital. Most of the staff have a day off, and most of the specialists are on leave, too. The only remaining people are recuperating patients, people who love said patients enough to stay, and a small number of employees that keep Mercy running.

Well, seems like people finally come to their sense and stop making emergency doctors more miserable on Thanksgiving, Quinn believes, mimicking Santana's way of putting things.

At lunchtime, she checks on Mrs Molina. Still not awake yet. Still on meds. Considering the two bleeders the doctors have fixed before, it's understandable. In fact, being a person who sat at the back seat in the car, she is luckier than the rest of her family.

Or unlucky, Quinn thinks, if one considers her being the lone, family-less survivor of the accident.

Oh yes, family. That reminds her at 5 PM to call her mom.

Judy Fabray, nee Keenan, is proven over time as a woman of holiday. Quinn almost tunes herself out at the bombardment of stories and questions Judy throws at her.

"Are you still there, honey?"

"Yes, Mom," she replies. "Uhm, I need to go. And before you ask, no, I'm not on duty tonight. And I've already packed. I'm good to go."

Judy is silent for a while, then, "I wish you don't have to go."

"Mom, we've talked about this," she says, tired of this certain situation already. "It's only for a year."

"I'm allowed to disagree with my daughter when said daughter is so close to flying off to another part of the world." Then Judy adds, softer, "I wish I can go with you."

Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose—hard. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you, too, baby girl. Kiss Al for me."

"I will, Mom. He's staying with the Hummels until I'm back. I mean, in case you want to see him. I'll call again tomorrow before boarding. Bye, Mom."

"Bye, honey."

The moment she ends her call, her pager goes off, the sound loud in the coffee shop that the five people there turn to look at her. The barista, being familiar with how Mercy doctors work, gives her a sympathetic smile.

Not a 911, thankfully.

Burt is waiting for her in front of Mrs Molina's room with her latest CT scan result. "She's going to be alright," he says, knowing that Quinn needs to hear it, before he starts listing down what Quinn needs to do before Burt calls it a day. Now that Mrs Molina has passed the first stage of recovery, her doctors can breathe a little bit easier.

"At least I manage to save someone in my last day working here," she murmurs.

Burt pats her shoulder several times. "You're always too hard on yourself, you know that, right?" He gives a firm slap on her back. "Cheer up! Tomorrow you're free from granola bars and cold sandwiches!"

She coughs from the force of Burt's last gesture of support. "Thanks, Burt." She looks at him in the eye. "For everything, too."

Burt pulls her into a brief hug. "Can't be any prouder as a mentor here, you know. WMS knows good stuff when they see one."

Admittedly, she tears up a bit at the compliment.

"Alright!" Burt thumps his right fist onto his left palm. "Man up for a few more hours. And then after that," he grins, "you're no longer in Buffalo when you open your eyes."

A minute before 7 PM, she's on her own, sitting outside Mrs Molina's room with CT scan result in her hand. She glances at the big clock at the end of the corridor then starts counting. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Happy Thanksgiving to me," she murmurs.

Her patient here is going to be fine. That's enough for her.

Or so she thinks—until her father calls. After a quick greeting and happy Thanksgiving are passed, he coughs awkwardly onto the receiver. And Quinn waits.

"So," Russell Fabray's firm voice enunciates, "WMS Grant, isn't it?" There's a scratching sound from the other side. "I guess this is it for you, Quinn." He pauses. "I wish you all the best."

And she waits.

"I'm sure Berry and Hummel are so proud now."

_Are you?_

"Happy Thanksgiving again, Quinn. Take care."

And she no longer waits. "You too, Dad."

Ten-thirty. No turkey, no extra patient, and no daddy.

_And no Rachel_, she adds belatedly.

_Well, you can call her,_ her inner voice supplies.

_Why should I?_

_Because sometimes it's nice to just have someone to talk to,_ it replies.

_What makes you think she'll listen?_

_What makes you think she won't?_ it throws back stubbornly, Santanaesquely.

She curses her inner voice and barks at it to shut up—silly, she knows. But it works. Pleased, she heads to the locker room to change. The nurse on duty will page her if Mrs Molina's condition changes. Finally, she thinks. Finally a good eight-hour sleep. She deserves that.

Or not.

"Are you heading home?"

Only her fatigue keeps her from jumping in surprise.

"Well?" Rachel is at the door with both hands on her hips.

"Do you have an ability to appear uninvited?"

Said person discussed asks back, "Am I unwelcome?"

Quinn considers answering yes. "Only if you don't give me another Nienta."

Oh the beaming ear-to-ear smile will kill her, really.

"I asked one of the nurses downstairs, and he said I could find you here." Rachel looks around. "I... have no idea that a hospital's locker room can be like this."

Quinn pulls her sweater down and folds the collar of her shirt neatly at the V-neckline. "And that is?"

"Like, you know, shirts everywhere. Bandages. Stuff. Doctors arguing."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I don't even want to know what you think of our on-call rooms."

Rachel heaves her tote bag onto the round table in the middle of the locker room. "Because you're going to show me, right?"

"Because apparently you watch too much _Grey's Anatomy_."

"Hey, that's a good show."

"And an unrealistic one."

Rachel pouts, and Quinn wonders if this person is not one of her classmates back then in her Davis days to whom she has been very close. No sane adult will act this friendly towards someone who she just meets less than 24 hours ago.

"And here I thought you'll be happy to have dinner with me."

At the word dinner, her interests are picked up.

Rachel opens her tote bag and starts taking food containers one by one. "I'm pescatarian, so Leroy cooked both turkey and Tofurky. I think he can win Masterchef, but you have to let me know what you think. Oh, and he's a proud Southerner, so no alcohol for this meal."

Now that all the containers are open, Quinn can see what Rachel is talking about. Heaven, she thinks. Heaven is having turkey and Tofurky, giblet gravy, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cornbread, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie in one set. All look like they come from a fancy restaurant. Now that's what she calls a proper Thanksgiving meal. Lucky man Hiram.

"It's a bit late for dinner, but I hope you don't mind," Rachel says, handing a plastic cup of sweet tea to Quinn. "Wait, no. You're not allowed to mind. This is the consequence of my finding out that Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman, worked on Thanksgiving."

At the call of her title, Quinn is brought back from heaven. "How could the nurse tell, let alone allow, you to come here?"

"This nose is very telling, you know." Rachel taps her nose, laughing. "You can't say no to your boss' daughter, after all."

Quinn spits out her tea.

Rachel now looks less confident. "Is it that surprising?"

Coughing, she wipes her mouth with a paper towel. _How graceful, Fabray_, her inner voice taunts. "I didn't know Dr Berry has a—a daughter. I mean, he's—he's with Leroy."

"He's gay through and through," Rachel agrees. "Well, I'm only his daughter technically. You doctors know it better with all the artificial insemination stuff. But still—wait—would you stop calling him Dr Berry? That sounds... old."

"Well, he is."

Rachel hands him another piece of paper towel. "Do you want to say grace first?"

Quinn closes her eyes and says, "Grace."

This time, it's Rachel's turn to roll her eyes.

Quinn does not realize she is hungry until she is digging into the food that Leroy Berry prepares. Seriously, Hiram is one very, very lucky man.

Rachel takes a bite of her green bean casserole. "So how's your day?"

Quinn swallows her last spoon of mashed potatoes. "No one's dying."

"Oh that's great," Rachel says.

"And you?" _What are you doing in a hospital being friendly to a stranger instead of being home with your sperm daddy?_

"I've got nothing to do in the hotel, and no matter how much I love my old man and Leroy, I don't want to be a creepy guest who imposes on their quality family time." Noticing Quinn's now empty plate, she pushes the pumpkin pie towards her. "And there's nothing feels better than eating with someone you can talk to. I mean, I don't really know a lot of people around here."

"What if I say no?"

Rachel frowns. "Would you?"

"Well, no."

Rachel takes a few minutes to busy herself by putting back all the food containers into her tote bag.

"So you're here only for Thanksgiving?" Quinn asks.

"Yes and no." Rachel pours herself a cup of sweet tea. "Yes, because—hello, who in the world would want to miss Thanksgiving? And no, because I just want to say hi to Hiram before I'm going on my whole year globetrotting." At Quinn's surprised expression, Rachel laughs. "Most people will say I don't look like it, so I'm not offended that you're thinking of the same thing."

"Sorry," Quinn says.

Rachel waves her hand to sign that she's okay with it. "If you don't mind, can you show me around? I don't really have time to look around before, and I don't want to disturb people who are working or patients." Then she adds, rather cheekily, "I'd love to see what kind of place your playground is."

Quinn looks at the clock above Rachel's head. Fifteen past midnight. She really needs to go home.

Well.

Rachel doesn't ask a lot of questions as they go around the hospital. Not yet, Quinn thinks. She squeals a bit when they pass the pediatric wing and its colorful decoration, and Quinn catches her shuddering when they come to the neurology wing. When they're in the cardio wing, Rachel doesn't hold back. She definitely has a ton of questions, especially when it comes to Hiram's line of work.

"Now we're in the PM&R wing," she informs next. "Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, I mean. My best friend is in this department."

Rachel nods once, twice. "Also a DO?"

"Yep." Quinn nods in return. "I'm in emergency medicine; that's more general than PM&R. But we used to be classmates and took the same program back then in Michigan State. She switched to PM&R after her internship, finding out that she's more at home here."

"So you two graduated from Michigan?"

"Completed my Ph.D in UC Davis, though. There are not too many schools in the US that offer a DO degree, after all."

Eyes widening, Rachel grins. "California girl."

She shrugs. "Just felt like having a change."

"So why DO? I mean, why not MD?"

She considers her answer for a moment, then, "My father is Fabray, MD. I don't want to be another Fabray, MD."

"I see." Rachel starts walking again, continue their impromptu tour. "So what do doctors do in emergency medicine?"

"We tend to patients who require immediate medical attention. You see, like the ER stuff. Mostly we deal with MVA here—motor vehicle accident, that is. And, as Buffalo is ripe with outdoor activity injuries, that's also our daily bread. I specialize in wilderness medicine, by the way." They stop in front of Quinn's regular on-call room. Quinn opens the door and switches on the light. "Welcome to the barrack."

Rachel looks around the room, trying register everything. She ducks her head and gives Quinn a sheepish smile. "So—uhm—you know. This is where, well, you doctors engage in—uhm—_activities_."

Quinn raises an eyebrow—the gesture that Santana calls The Patented Fabray Eyebrow Arch. "You really need to kill your TV."

"So no?"

"No."

Giggling, Rachel takes a seat on one of the lower bunk bed. "I believe I must thank you," she says, sincerity and solemnity evident in her voice. "I don't really know the environment where Hiram works, and we don't see each other often. I think I can know him better if I do. So thank you again for showing me around."

Quinn shrugs. "Anytime."

Rachel pats the space next to her. "Please?" Then as Quinn sits next to her, she speaks again in a much softer voice, staring ahead at the wall. "I bet you're so familiar with this environment, and I'm convinced that my previous statement about this place being your playground is not incorrect."

"More or less."

"I'm not." She starts swinging her feet. What a childlike innocence, Quinn notices. "I grew up on stage. My mom—she's a single mom, by the way—is a singer, so theater is like my second home. I didn't even bother to find my old man until five years ago."

Quinn nods to show that she is following.

"Hiram visited us twice, so I thought that I could visit him in return. I mean, perhaps if I know what kind of a person he really is, I would have an idea or two about why my mom chose Hiram."

"That's something you can ask your mom."

"She passed away two years ago."

Quinn winces. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Rachel returns swiftly. "She had a good life. I know she's happy with her life." Sighing, she leans back until her back hit the bed. "You're a good person, you know that, Quinn?"

Quinn turns a little, but she does not lie down. "Because I'm a doctor?"

"Because you could have said no to me, who's practically a stranger—your boss' relative or not. But you didn't. Because you could have been so pissed off at me, who's been bothering you since the first minute we met, and told me to go away. But you didn't. Because you made it possible for me to know a bit more about my dad—well, technically I can call him that, right?" Rachel laughs. "Those, or you're simply a natural-born good person."

Quinn doesn't understand the pull that makes her lie down, swing feet, and laugh with Rachel, but she doesn't mind.

Nope. Not at all.

Because 5 AM in an on-call room with Rachel?

Best 5 AM ever.

-.-.-.-

Note:

WMS (Wilderness Medicine Society) is a real organization. If you notice, there are so many things that Quinn hasn't brought up yet.

Exam:

Figure out how to put globetrotting and WMS Grant in one congruent sentence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Open Hearts, Breathing Lungs**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's.

It's been fun writing this fic. It's even more to know you like it. I might write a sequel for this, but for now, thank you for staying and reading and commenting!

-.-.-.-

**Part 3 of 3**

Al barks so loudly as Quinn's alarm hits ten o'clock.

"I'm up, buddy. I'm up," she growls from beneath the thick duvet, reaching around to slam the still blaring alarm to turn it off. Last morning in Buffalo, and she isn't even allowed to wake up beyond ten. Praise.

Slipping into her not-morning routine—which means not rushing to the bathroom, not rushing to grab some granola bars, not bothering to put on make up, not dying just to survive another day, she looks at herself in the mirror. A fledgling surgeon, just finishing internship half a year ago, and now about to fly off to, as her mother puts, the other side of the world. Away from Buffalo and its freaking cold weather. Away from the US, the only continent she has been living her whole life in.

Away from holding on to hopes and being made their slave.

Al barks again, cutting her lamentation short.

_Time to go and enjoy freedom, I guess._

The drive to the Hummels' reminds Quinn of another drive she took five hours ago. To drive Rachel back to her hotel. She remembers saying goodbye to the odd stranger. Well, technically, Rachel _is_ still a stranger. She can't just call someone a friend even though she has spent six hours together and eats her food and listens to her stories more than she listens to Santana's, can't she? Can't she?

There are two cars parked in front of the Hummels' house. Quinn wonders if Burt has guests so early in the morning, but she sticks with her original plan. She'll be quick, and she'll be good to leave. That's all.

"Quinn!" A flush-cheeked, sweater-clad Kurt Hummel immediately throws himself at her right after he opens the door. "It's been a long time!"

"Happy belated Thanksgiving, Kurt."

"And to you, too." He grins. "Ready for your big day? Come on in. Have you had breakfast?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I still have to take care of some things." She pulls at Al's rope. "I'm just dropping him."

"Quinn?"

_Seriously?_

"Quinn!"

Rachel's ecstatic exclamation can't be mistaken for someone else's.

Kurt turns around to look at the approaching girl and back to Quinn. "You two know each other?"

"She's the kindest person you can meet in the hospital," Rachel says, her eyes catching Al beside Quinn. "Hi there, handsome boy."

Quinn looks at Kurt. "So," she starts, "you two also know each other." Not a question, though.

Kurt nods. "What do you expect? Our dads are best buddies since forever. Her dads are here for breakfast."

"Kurt and I have just met this morning," Rachel supplies. "I can't be any happier to know that we both share our fondness of good musicals, and Kurt's taste equals mine in quality, if not in number."

Quinn raises an eyebrow at Kurt. She might have got the hints that Kurt likes highbrow music, but this is the first time she knows Kurt can be dedicated to something else than fashion.

Speaking of dedication...

"Well, I'd better go to the hospital now," she says. "Just to make sure I don't leave something important behind."

"Leave?" Rachel looks up from Al, who's busy licking her face.

"I—uh—why, yes. I have a flight tonight?"

Rachel looks to be thinking for a while then says, "I'm going with you." Standing, she gives Quinn a small smile. "I'll be right back."

As Rachel leaves, apparently to excuse herself, Kurt gives Quinn the look that says _you owe me an explanation._

She can only shrug.

-.-.-.-

To her surprise, the drive to the hospital is quiet.

That is, until she has to stop at a major intersection due to the red light.

"You are never one to take the initiative, aren't you?"

She almost bristles at that.

"I take it back," Rachel quickly amends. "It's just—you know. You're working crazy shifts, you didn't take a Thanksgiving break, and now you're leaving on Black Friday." She pauses. "Where to, if I may ask?"

"Indonesia."

"Indonesia?" Rachel repeats incredulously. "That archipelago that spreads across the equator? That country that has twelve hours difference with the EST? That—that country that takes about twenty hours of flight from the East Coast to reach?"

"You'll make a good globetrotter."

"But—why? It's so far."

"I got a grant," she answers. "My project starts in January, but I need to be there a month earlier for training. Survival skills training, that is. You know, like how to create fire without a lighter, tell the difference between poisonous and non-poisonous mushrooms, ration your stock of medicine. Stuff like that."

Rachel gapes. "What are you, really? Girl scout?"

"I told you: a wilderness medicine practitioner." Oh, there's the green light. "I'm meant to be in an area where even the most basic health care is a luxury."

"Oh."

"I might as well change my name to Jane."

Rachel doesn't respond by words, but a perfectly aimed mock-jab lands on Quinn's upper arm.

"Ow."

"That's for being not funny."

Quinn turns right to the hospital's parking lot for employees and parks her car neatly. "You know, that's what most people tell me."

"That you suck at being funny?"

"That I don't take the initiative."

Rachel exits the car and goes around to wait for Quinn on the side. "Then I guess you just need people who will prod you to be more vocal about yourself."

This time she really bristles. Whoever this girl thinks she is to pass her judgment of Quinn Fabray like she has known her for years?

Rachel's eyes, however, are the most serious she has ever seen.

Without responding, she slips into the elevator, Rachel following closely behind. A minute later, the soft ding noise indicates that they're on the ground level.

And the first thing she sees is a blurry flash of Santana Lopez.

"Wha—San!"

Her best friend halts in the middle of her sprint, almost knocking herself off balance. "Move!"

"Wh—"

And a stretcher almost barrels itself into her from behind if not for Rachel, who out of reflex pulls her out of the stretcher's way.

A young girl is lying on the stretcher... with pieces of metal impaled through her thigh and side.

Rachel's clutch on her arm tightens to the point that it hurts.

"Shelves collapsed in JC Penney Cheektowaga. Three injured. Goddamn Black Friday deals." Santana makes a motion to the interns to lead them to the ER. "I'll try to finish ASAP. Don't you dare leaving before I'm done."

The girl on the stretcher suddenly flings an arm out and catches the edge of Quinn's blazer. "Doc—where—"

The stretcher is quickly wheeled away, Santana jogging closely beside it, and Quinn is left with no remembrance of the event but her bloodstained blazer.

Rachel makes a gurgling sound behind her, and that gets Quinn's attention.

"I'm going to be sick," she announced, face ashen white.

_Shit_. Hurriedly, she leads Rachel to the closest restroom and pushes her into one of the stalls. Waiting for Rachel, she looks at her reflection in the mirror. Her blazer is ruined for good, and there's not need to make Rachel even sicker, so she decides to shed it. What a way to end her story in Mercy Hospital.

The door to Rachel's stall opens, and Quinn is glad a bit of colors have returned to the girl's face.

"You okay?"

Rachel swallows, opens her mouth to say something, but ends up only shaking her head. Wordlessly, she walks to her and closes the distance between them by leaning onto Quinn. She's trembling, Quinn notices but says nothing. Instead, she brings a hand up Rachel's back and rub it awkwardly, hoping to soothe her.

A quiet sob is muffled against her shoulder.

"That's my job," she says.

"I can't imagine—" Rachel stops short. "You're so strong, Quinn."

She tries her best to shrug with Rachel's head still on her shoulder. In that moment, gone is the talkative, cheerful, shiny happy girl. She's so human in Quinn's arms—just like a normal person should be in a hospital. Normal. And afraid. And aware of mortality. "That's a doctor for you," she supplies wryly.

Rachel lifts her head and takes a step back. "Thank you. I feel better now." She wipes at the corner of her eyes. "And I'm sorry."

Quinn raises an eyebrow.

"I think you do take the initiative your own way." She smiles, soft and gentle and knowing, her hands making a gesture to point to their distance. "I—uhm—can I just wait in that coffee shop across the hospital? Take your time to check and get whatever you need."

She nods. "I'll call you after I'm done."

Somehow, the way Rachel leaves her in the restroom makes her ache.

-.-.-.-

She should just sit in the theater. She should not offer to scrub in. She should not do anything in her last day in Mercy Hospital. Hell, she should not come _at_ _all_.

"Quinn."

The one voice that has the ability to make her freeze—literally.

"Dr Fabray," Santana acknowledges the man apprearing behind her best friend. "I mean, Dr Fabray Senior."

"Dr Lopez."

Russell Fabray's tall, well-built figure reaches Quinn's side in an effortless stride. Even after all these years, he can make her feel so small just by standing next to her. Even Santana and Burt know this, judging from the apology in their eyes across the operation table.

"It's your last day in Mercy," Russell says. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"I wasn't expecting you to be here, too," she says. "Especially for an emergency case like this."

"I had an appointment with Hiram, and he invited me to observe Dr Lopez's case. I wouldn't say no to joining one of the most promising PM&R specialists in the country." His eyes land on Santana, whose blush creeps to her upper cheeks. "I have to say that your paper about the orthopedic of thorax of children with genetic condition in the latest _American Journal of PM&R_ is brilliant, Dr Lopez."

Santana's quiet _thank you_ does nothing to calm the seed of storm in Quinn's chest.

"Oh! Fancy seeing you down there, Russ."

Hiram's voice blaring from the speaker announces his presence in the operating theater, and Santana's intern and a few nurses look very shocked. Quinn fights the urge to roll her eyes, but she understands their reaction. An operation with two Lasker Award laureates, one of which is a student of the legendary Oklahoman heart surgeon Dr Nazih Zuhdi and now serves as the Director of the Aortic Institute at Yale-New Haven Hospital, in the audience? A blessing and a curse at the same time. God forbids if they fail. Failure is not an option.

_No_, Quinn scolds herself. _Failure is never an option_.

_Not when you live with a man so big that a mere mention of his name made your classmates look at you in both awe and envy. Not when you're always compared to him, starting from the moment you started medical school. Not when you carry his name and must endure being addressed by that name now and for the rest of your professional life._

A series of loud beeps from the heart monitor breaks her reverie.

"She's losing pressure," Burt says. "Gotta be her aorta tear."

Across the operation table, Santana's eyes say, _Quinn, we need a hand_.

Hands. Right.

Her hands are the only things that make her Quinn Fabray and not merely another Fabray. They're small and they fail sometimes, but they're her own.

Hers.

-.-.-.-

She is called to Hiram's office after the operation, and waiting for her in the office were the Chief, her daughter, and his best friend—who is also her father. _What the hell._

"Have a seat, Quinn," Hiram says, only continuing after Quinn reluctantly slides to the sofa next to Russell. "Good job saving that girl, by the way, even though you didn't have to be there."

"I—thank you."

"And I think Russ here has something to say, too," Hiram elbows his best friend, grinning, "considering how pride was blatantly gushing from him when we talked about you."

Russell coughs into his hand. "I was merely stating my observation." And as Quinn raises her eyes to meet his, he coughs again. "It was a good move, Quinn."

Even Rachel hides a grin behind her palm at Russell's awkward deer-in-the-headlights moment.

"I—" And out of blue she is standing, blood rushing to her head. "I can't believe—why now? You—you've _never_ bothered to acknowledge anything I've done. Why now? Because, God, you've gotta be kidding me if—"

"Quinn," Hiram cuts gently. "Russ has never been not proud of you."

"No! You don't understand! I took a DO program because—because—you know, Hiram." She's on full rambling mode now, but she couldn't help it. "Dad, you don't get to praise Santana in front of me and now say I'm—I'm—no!"

Russell reaches into the inner pocket of his suit. He hands a simple, creamy colored Hallmark card to Quinn.

"And now you give me a Congratulations card!"

"Read it."

Her hands are trembling when she opens the card and read the handwritten message inside. When she finishes, she looks up just to find Hiram's understanding smile and Rachel's no longer hidden grin.

Her father, however, looks stony as usual.

But his eyes—oh God. That pair of eyes that she inherits. The Fabray eyes. His are so gentle she wants to cry. The gentlest Quinn has ever seen of him.

"Ben Schifrin said hi," Russell says. "I'm only a messenger."

"And I'm betting all my bonus this year that UC Davis is offering you a fellowship after you return from Indonesia."

"Oh God." She can't feel her knees. "Oh God—fuck. Sorry, I don't mean—oh God."

Still grinning, Rachel stands from her position on the arm of Hiram's sofa and walks to sit on Quinn's. "You save people's lives. It's only natural that good things happen to you as well."

"And there goes my offspring and her quirky wisdom," Hiram says, laughing.

Russell makes a motion to stand, straightening his suit. He too walks to Quinn, and his hand on her shoulder for the first time after a very long, long time feels like a comfort instead of a burden. "I'll see you again at the airport tonight."

Hiram laughs openly after Russell leaves his office. "Your old gaffer, really. Judy must be the most patient mind-reader in human history."

-.-.-.-

At 7:25, she is already at the airport. Santana drives her, and she even helps her going through her checklist once again to make sure she has packed everything she needs.

"Do you believe in lady luck, San?"

Her best friend snickers. "What brings this up, Q? Dr Berry's daughter?"

There's no need for hiding, she guesses. "I've only known her for three days, I know, but for me she's like a giant Energizer bunny of positivity. No, wait. Scratch that. She's a bulldozer."

Santana nods once. "That's... an interesting metaphor."

"My dad turns out not as terrible as a jerk you think he is."

"Yeah, if you mean he's like a tiger daddy who throws his cub to a cliff just to make the cub learns? Still enough to meet the jerk quality for me."

"San."

"Q."

Sighing, she decides to give it a rest. "Okay, we probably will never have a healthy, functional father-daughter relationship."

"That's an understatement."

Nodding, she clutches the card from her former mentor in UC Davis tighter to her chest. If anything, at least she has a father who flies all the way to Davis just to ask her mentor to write a private congratulatory card on her fellowship.

Tiger daddy, indeed.

Soon, she is surrounded by the Hummels and the Berries.

Including her lady luck.

Rachel pulls her aside, excusing themselves from the rest. "If your carry-on still has some space, I'd like to give you a present." She grabs one of Quinn's hands and turns her palm so it is facing upward. "There you go."

The familiar smell wafting from the brown paper bag... she knows it somehow.

Rachel smiles. "Do you know the meaning of Nienta?"

"Uh-huh?"

"It means 'don't bother.'

She looks at the paper bag in her hand. _Oh_.

"That's for being a strong person, a kind doctor, and a great company despite having a knack for self-reprimand and dramatic outburst."

Finally giving in to laughter, she pulls Rachel into a hug.

"Whoa—Quinn, I thought you'd never—nah, never mind."

"Yeah?" she chuckles. "I kinda remember someone saying about liking how I take the initiative my way."

Rachel's laughter is officially her favorite sound in the world by now.

"Come see me when you're globetrotting, Rachel."

Rachel pulls back, still laughing. "With or without Nienta?"

"With or without Nienta."

And Rachel chooses that moment to kiss her on her left cheek.

And, dear God, how her heart pitter-patters, skips, and somersaults.

At 8:00, she is sent to her gate after a bear hug from both Kurt and Burt, a fatherly hug from both Hiram and Leroy, a crushing hug and a bitchslap to the back from Santana, an awkward yet firm hug from her father, and the best hug in the world from Rachel.

_Your life has just begun, Dr Quinn Fabray_, she thinks as she gets to her seat and looks out the window. _Your life has just begun._

-.-.-.-

Note:

_American Journal of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation_ is real. So is the Aortic Institute at Yale-New Haven Hospital. And so are Dr Nazih Zuhdi and UC Davis' Dr Ben Schifrin. Dr Zuhdi first made his name a legend at Mercy Hospital Oklahoma City, so now you know why Quinn works in a Mercy Hospital (besides the fact I mentioned in the first chapter).

I like canon!Quinn's dry sense of humor. I like her sarcasm and indifference about it. I like how she can be realistic and super unrealistic at the same time. I like how she can find herself after her life gets so fucked up from season to season. I like how the Quinn we all picture in our mind is not RIB's Quinn. That's what I'm trying to keep in this fic.


End file.
